


i can put you back together

by fuglyjumpers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Apartment AU, F/M, Fluff, Making Out, Probably ooc, jealous!Fitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuglyjumpers/pseuds/fuglyjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz is tired of hearing Jemma Simmons with her boyfriend all bloody night, but doesn't know what to do when it stops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can put you back together

Leo Fitz was exhausted.

Bones aching and eyes stinging he popped on the kettle, the growing screeching noise scraped against his ears as he glared at the kettle, as if it would quite down.  
They’d been up all night, again. The neighbour girl, Jemma, and her new boyfriend had kept him up all _bloody_ night with whispers and moans and creaks and giggles.

He is definitely not bitter.

Fitz caught a glimpse of him the hallway when he was checking to see where all that bloody noise was coming from. The tall man had his arms wrapped around Jemma’s waist as she fiddled with her keys; she complained but did not pull away. The man had dark skin and an attractive face; dark stubble defined his already strong jaw.

Fitz scowled and ignored the slight twist in his stomach as he made his way back to the couch, and belly flopped onto it ungracefully. He heard music play next door, something light and dancey. Fitz tried not to picture the way Simmons’ hair bounces around her shoulders as she snaked her hips around in a way she knew drove any man – nay – anyone crazy. And he swears to every divine being that he did not picture her hips pressed against his own and her brown eyes fixed on his blue ones with elated pupils and dark, oh so dark.

He was definitely not thinking about that.

They were giggling, and Simmons let out a rather loud moan before a voice quickly shushed her with an amused hush. Fitz wasn't sure what he did to deserve this; this endless torment involving the girl next door, he apologised to the deities he never believed in as he turned up the volume of the telly.

The sounds continued long after he resigned himself to bed at two in the morning (he had work the next day and he was not happy). The bed behind his wall was creaking and he heard soft grunts and noises he could not believe were out coming from Jemma Simmons mouth. Fitz groaned in frustration and buried his head under his pillow. He groans and moans turned into hushed tones.

They fell asleep shortly before him, three godforsaken hours later. Fitz relished in the bliss of the silence.

So here he was, pissed off, slightly hungover, and unbelievably frustrated. Pulling on a mostly clean shirt and tie he was out the door. Simmons and her boyfriend were in the hallway, kissing (if you could call it that; he looked like he was eating her alive.) They jumped apart as he shut his door, and he was so so ready to give them a piece of his traditional Scottish temper.

Until he saw the smile plastered on Simmons’ face, it was goofy and childish and holy shit he never saw a smile so fucking beautiful in his short, bland life.

(He later drunkenly described it to his friend Mack as a bit of faculae.)

‘Morning’, he grunted instead, quickly turning on his heel and away from the delirious couple.

‘Well fuck’, he muttered.

-

  
They gradually got louder, throughout the relationship, every one of Simmons’ screams felt like a bullet going straight through him.

 _‘Antoine!’_  she would moan and Fitz would bang his head against whatever available surface was around. The twisting feelings hadn't gone away like he thought they would, they persisted, worsening. His heart was betraying him too, thumping like a hummingbirds’ when he saw Simmons, stumbling home late, bringing in her shopping, struggling with large piles of books.

Fitz tried to make sense of it, he really, truly did. He tried desperately to quantify his feelings into neat little rows of figures, because that’s what he could deal with. He tried to tally skipped heartbeats and held breaths and counted how many times his body froze when she brushed against him. Believing that if he could have a number to how he felt it would make some kind of sense, but, to his a avail, nothing made sense, there was no logic to the way Fitz’ felt and that terrified him to his aching bones.

Fitz tried locking those feelings away, as he thought himself to do in situations as dire as this one.

Fitz has been doing a lot of trying and failing since Jemma Simmons.

-

  
One particular bad night happened during mid-October, eight months and twenty-three days into their relationship, Fitz counted. He had been doomed from the start really, they started slammed into Simmons’ front door, she was already losing her button-up (a plaid one he has a similar one to) and there had been panting and moans of ‘you’re so beautiful girl’ and ‘oh I can’t believe you’re mine’.

Fitz felt a strong urge to either rip out his eyeballs or Antoine’s, whose _bloody_ hands were up her shirt. They tumbled inside, hot and heavy and enchanted by each other. Fitz pulled out the whiskey.

He made it into a game really, taking a shot every time there was a particularly loud moan or grunt or he thought either of them had come. He sometimes invited Mack over, or Hunter, to play along with him. Only they saw how miserable the game was, neither ever said anything.

Everything was as usual, until one said something that shattered him (and the glass in his hand).

‘I love you’, one moaned, there was a short and deafening silence.

‘I love you too’, the English voice said, shattering something in Fitz, and he did not understand why that hurt so badly.

Pissed off and drunk and horribly, pityingly confused and in pain, he grabbed the bottle of almost empty whiskey and stormed down three floors to Mack’s’ flat. Grumbling something about how he was being highly illogical and stupid which Leo Fitz is definitely not.

This is all Simmons’ fault, he thought bitterly, it’s not like he hadn’t noticed her, of course he has, every bloke in this god damn state probably has, with her heart melting smile and her brilliant mind, the first one he had come across able to keep up with his own equally brilliant one, and those brown eyes. Did you know they could be amber early in the morning? Or pitch black in the deep hours of the night? Which have recently been preoccupied by another bloke. A very attractive bloke, Fitz noted, and he seemed funny and intelligent enough to keep up with her. Maybe they’d never break up, but dear god he hoped they did. Just to wipe that smirk he gets on his fucking symmetrical face clean off.

Fitz pounded on Mack’s door uncharacteristically aggressively.

‘Open the bloody door you bastard’, his words were slurred together and his Scottish lilt was stronger. He pounded again.

The larger man answered the door looking pissed off and tired, ready to yell until he took in all of Fitz. Shirt unbuttoned, hair sticking out at odd angles, blue eyes usually kind and slightly mischievous, cold and defeated. Almost finished bottle of whiskey gripped in his hand by white knuckles, and, Mack noticed with a hint of amusement, he had forgotten to put on shoes.

‘Alright come in, dickhead’, Mack muttered, allowing the younger and slighter man to slip under his arm and into his apartment. Fitz, almost immediately, started ranting about ‘bloody fucking Simmons’ and her ‘god damn fucking asshole boyfriend’, as he had been for the past eight months, he was becoming worse than Hunter was his ex-wife (don’t even get him started on that train wreck.) He allowed Fitz to rant and rave and swear incomprehensibly until he collapsed onto the couch in an exhausted, drunken mess. Mack picked up the bottle of whiskey (imported from Scotland) and moved it away from Fitz, watching him drag his hands along his face and then through his blond curls.

‘Y’alright, man?’ Mack asked after a few minutes of being silent.

‘Everything hurts,’ the shorter man replied, Scottish accent thick and words slurred, Mack smiled softly.

‘You can crash here tonight’, he said, standing up to find a blanket to throw over Fitz, returning with painkillers and a glass of water too.

‘I think I’m in love with her, Mack’, the Scot whispered as Mack kneeled beside him.

‘Yeah, no shit,’ Mack responded with a grin. _Finally._

‘You knew?’ Fitz asked, voice high.

‘It was a bit obvious, man, we thought you knew, being a super genius and all that’, Mack said. Fitz groaned and buried his face in the blanket. Poor bastard.

‘Night Fitz’, the taller man ruffled Fitz’ already ruffled hair. He only got a grunt in return.

-

  
Fitz did not remember the night before and Mack didn’t remind him. He left late in the morning, still harbouring a bad hangover.

‘Hey Fitz!’ someone called out to him, Antoine.

He groaned internally. ‘Morning’.

‘You alright? You look wrecked, man’, the man asked, peering down at him with a worried expression on his face.

‘Hungover to fuck’, Fitz muttered back, ignoring Antoine’s reaction to him swearing. He swallowed dryly. ‘Heard you had a good night last night.’

Antoine chuckled and smirked, that fucking smirk. Fitz gritted his teeth. ‘Oh yeah I did’, he paused. ‘How much did you hear?’

‘Most of it’, he answered, trying to sound casual, and failing. ‘It’s alright, I’m used to it by now, you two are like rabbits.’ He said the words without realising, pursing his lips together. Fitz _why on earth?_

To his surprise, the taller man laughed. ‘Again, sorry about that’, he smiled fondly at Fitz. ‘I really like her.’

‘I heard’, Fitz said sharply.

‘Oh man, you really do hear everything’, he laughed again. ‘I’ll see you around Fitz.’ He strolled past him, slapping Fitz on the shoulder, leaving Fitz with a bitter expression on his face.

Why does he have to be so nice? This makes it much harder to hate him unconditionally.

He only registered Simmons standing in her doorway when it was too late to back away and avoid the conversation inevitably waiting for him.

He approached, pulling out his keys and keeping his head down trying to make it as clear as possible he does not want to talk. Simmons didn’t pick up on it though.

‘Hello Fitz!’ she chirped happily. She was holding a pile of post in her hand. ‘How’re you? You look like death.’

‘Oh thank you very much Simmons, you’re too kind’, he responded dryly. ‘You look ready for me to take you.’

Simmons’ went pink, bright pink. It was rather adorable actually. Fitz’ heart skipped. ‘W-what?’

Fitz, suddenly realising how it sounded, went red to, the shade started at his ears and spread to his cheeks. ‘I-I just meant if I’m death, and I’m ready to take you, y-you look like you’re dying’, he stammered his way through his explanation. ‘The insult really doesn’t work when you don’t understand, Simmons’.

‘Well maybe if your insults weren’t so shite you wouldn’t need to explain them’, Simmons retorted, looking appalled of being excused of not understanding something. It made the corners of Fitz’ mouth quirk up.

‘My insults are perfectly genius’, he said, sliding his key into the lock. ‘Like me.’

‘Oh please, I’m ten times the genius you are’, Simmons teased, smiling slightly.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Simmons, loads of people are above average’, Fitz continued, ignoring her, but glancing out of the corner of his eye just to catch a glimpse of her smile, of course his breath hitched.

‘Loads of people are in denial of not being as smart as me, Fitz’ she continued, ignoring him. ‘It’s okay to be in the majority, there’s a reason it’s the majority.’

‘If I’m in the majority, you’re in there with me, Simmons’ Fitz said, turning the key in the lock. ‘You’re just as average as me.’

Simmons has a weird smile on her face, almost secretive, a smile just for him. ‘There’s positively nothing average about you, Fitz.’

And with that, she retreated back into her flat, with that smile still on her face, it made Fitz’ skin burn. Escaping into his flat and quickly shutting the door behind him, he grinned to himself. It was wide and goofy and love struck. They haven’t talked like that in ages; he had forgotten how much he missed it. How much he missed her.  
-  
Everything carries on as usual for the next month, except him and Simmons’ start talking again, like they used too. Gently teasing, standing a little too close together, touching each other a little too much. They talked about everything and nothing and anything. Antoine was never brought up which Fitz was grateful for, he didn’t think he could bullshit his way through _that_ conversation.

They began walking to work together, which involved Simmons barging into his apartment and dragging him out the door half an hour earlier than he was used. Fitz supposed it was worth a cooked breakfast and watching her fuss around him.

When it came to coming home, they always waited, helping one another on their projects to speed up the process. They realised they made a pretty good team, seeing they could work practically in sync to each other. So did the head of their departments, because they were quickly put on a project together.

It wasn’t until the fifth film night (Harry Potter 5-8) when Antoine began coming over earlier, and earlier, and earlier. Which only annoyed Fitz a little bit (a lot). He would barge in, and Simmons would bounce up and give him a quick kiss before returning to her seat beside Fitz on the couch. When, he left, Simmons would press a kiss to his cheek, and promised to get him up the next morning.

Fitz lost her again to Antoine later in the night; he drowned out the noises and ignored them when they replayed in his head as he talked to Simmons the next day.  
Then, one day, there was no music and no laughter. No grunts or moans, just yelling, not the good kind, it was anger. It continued one through the night, occasional sobs were coming from Simmons, she could never argue passionately without getting worked up. He flinched when he heard something shatter and the shouting increased, Fitz caught words every now and then ‘you can’t’ and ‘why won’t you’ and ‘I’ve seen the way you look at him’ and ‘I don’t want him around’ and ‘that’s not your decision’, and ‘trust me’.

‘Why fucking would I’.

They were breaking up, Fitz realised, a weird sense of dread nestled in the pit of his stomach. Simmons, poor darling Jemma would have her heart broken, her beautiful heart, shattered and chip like his own and oh dear God he could not stand the thought of that.

Her door slammed.

And for the first time in months, there was silence next door.

-

  
  
Jemma – _Simmons_ – was not the same after Antoine. She stopped waking him up at ungodly hours for work but left early by herself. She barely talked him in the lab, Fitz brought her tea, and doughnuts, he even offered to help with her dissections, she simply shook her head, ‘its fine, Fitz.’ She came home at witching hours, and her flat was eerily silent for the night. He figured she thought so too, from her leaving early and coming home late. Some nights, she wouldn’t come home at all, and he would find her asleep on one of the lab tables.

He could hear her cry sometimes, it was gentle, not sobs like the night they broke up but a gentle hum on the other side of Fitz’ bedroom wall. It pained him slightly to be so close but not be able to help her, to console her, to touch her, to see that bloody smile again. He splayed his hand on the wall above his bed and pressed cheek against the wall.

 _‘This is awfully reminiscent of that Doctor Who episode’_ , he thought too himself bitterly, remembering how that turned out for Rose and the Doctor.

Weeks passed, and she was still rising early and coming home late. Some nights not at all, he theorised that she slept in her lab or didn’t sleep at all. But she still hasn’t cracked a smile.

God, how he missed that smile.

Fitz could not help but feel bitter and resentful towards Antoine for hurting her this way, for breaking her heart, something that even his delicate engineer hands couldn’t put back together.

-

  
‘Simmons! Simmons, open up the bloody door!’ Fitz yelled, loud enough to hear over his insistent banging.

‘Go away, Fitz’, she called back. He dropped his hand in defeat.

‘Jemma, please let me in’, he pressed his forehead to the door. ‘Please, Jemma.’ He paused, she didn’t move, sighing he lifted up the green bottle in his other hand so she could see it through her eye hole.

‘I bring gifts from the homeland,’ he teased gently. ‘Fine Scottish whiskey.’ Stretching out the word ‘fine’.

Simmons cracked open her door. ‘If it’s Scottish, it’s from _your_ homeland.’

Fitz gave a small smile. ‘Scotland is part of the UK, which is _our_ homeland.’

She opened up the door a bit more, so she could lean against the frame. Fitz sucked in a breath. She looked like mess in all honesty, hair loose around her shoulders, with a light halo of frizz framing it, paired with a very large shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms.

God, she is beautiful, thought Fitz, probably for the millionth time that week.

‘Why don’t you let me in and we can discuss it further?’ he asked shyly. Simmons nodded.

‘Wow, you are capable of having good ideas, who would’ve thought’, she teased, turning on her heel and back into her apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

‘Excuse you, I have plenty of good ideas’, Fitz said, offended. ‘The DWARFS, for example.’

‘That was a once off’, Simmons said from her kitchen, searching for her glasses. Fitz stood in her living room; their flats were identical, except for how Simmons has of course made hers ridiculously cosy. A deep red rug was thrown across the floor, covering most of the worn out wood, her couch was large and slightly ratty but was covered in blankets and pillows; her coffee table was overflowing with candles and old science journals, the most recent one on top. Fitz picked it up and snuck into the couch.

‘Have you seen the new pictures of Pluto?’ he called across to her. He had almost started crying when he saw them, desperately trying to explain to Mack and Hunter how monumental it was and how only fifteen years ago, the pictures were frustratingly pixelated. They didn’t seem to quite understand.

‘Yes, I did’, she came over with two glasses and handed him one. ‘I got quite emotional about it, seeing as only fifteen years ago it was horrifically pixelated.’

‘My thoughts exactly’, Fitz agreed, pouring them a generous amount each. ‘To space and all the weird shit in it.’

Simmons clinked her glass to his. ‘To space’.

They both drank, and there was a silence as they sat together. Simmons was the first one to break the silence.

‘Have you heard about the micro organisms they found on Mars?’ she asked tentatively.

‘I have yeah, what’re your thoughts?’ he asked, encouraging her. She didn’t need to be asked twice, she started talking, at an incredible speed, in a way she hadn’t talked in a month. She began explaining, as if Fitz didn’t know, about how this could mean there’s life on other planets or how these microorganisms could be the cure to diseases or how we could grow living organisms from these tiny cells.

‘Aliens, Fitz’, she whispered excitedly. ‘Actual aliens!’

‘Aliens, Simmons?’ he whispered back teasingly.

‘Actual bloody aliens!’ she laughed, the corners of her mouth quirked upwards before a full smile covered her face, making Fitz’ heart sing.

Fitz, without thinking, or thinking too much, cupped her cheek with a clumsy hand, she gripped his wrist.

‘God I love your smile’, he breathed, cupping her other cheek. She looked at him, brown eyes filled with intensity and curiosity and something else he couldn’t place but was reflected in his own bright blue eyes.

‘What?’ she asked, tilting her head, she ran her thumb over his hand.

‘What what?’

‘Why're are you looking at me like that?’ she asked puzzled.

‘Like what?’ Fitz stammered.

‘Like’ she paused, as if searching for the right words, she was knelt close to him, her knees pressed against his thigh. Her eyes were searching his face, not quite focused, he guessed she was tipsy. ‘Like I have all the answers of the universes but I’m in written in a language you don’t understand.’

He blinked. She blinked. ‘That’s exactly what you are to me.’

Suddenly, she was wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. His eyes widened and arms stuck out at awkward angles before slowly sinking into her, and she climbed onto his lap to get into a better position and he couldn’t help but notice how she fit so perfectly into the crook of his neck.

Simmons played with the curls at the nape of his neck and he really wished she wouldn’t, because they’re tipsy and she’s in his lap and he thinks she’s more wonderful then the god damn universe. How do you expect a bloke to feel?

‘You smell like disinfectant’, was all Fitz could think to say, her hair was tickling his nose and she laughed from on top of him, causing her to press into his hips.

‘Well you smell like cheap deodorant’, she whispered into his ear. Fuck. ‘Which is worse really?’

He couldn’t take this. ‘Simmons’, he swallowed dryly. ‘Could you-‘

Simmons had her forehead pressed to his and her brown eyes bore into his, they were dark and wild and curious and oh God, he’s never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his life. Their noses brushed together, and without breaking eye contact, Simmons tentatively brushed her lips against his; as if she was testing the waters before fully sinking into him.

Her lips were soft and gentle yet demanding and forceful, like everything she is. He slides his hands down her back to grip thighs and she presses closer to him and he craves more and more and more so he sinks his teeth into her lip before soothing it over with his tongue. She sighs and rolls her hips against hips.

Fitz is convinced his heart is going to burst out of his chest because he just made Jemma Simmons made that noise into his mouth because he caused it.

Jemma wasn’t expecting this to happen at all. She didn’t want him here in the first place but here they are pressed together, grabbing each other like they never wanted to let go and she never did. One of his calloused hands cupped her jaw. She dragged her fingernails down behind his neck, the sides, down the front, until she pulled at his collar, waiting for him to consent.

Fitz pulled away, and she couldn’t help but think how beautiful he looked beneath her. His lips were swollen and wet from kissing, his eyes half lidded and his gaze was dazed.

‘J-Jemma’, he stammered. ‘I don’t think I can do this if I can’t do it again and again and again.’ He trailed off because she began peppering kisses along his neck and his head wasn’t at all clear it was clouded by thoughts of Jemma in compromising positions in compromising clothing.

‘Oh, Fitz’, she sighed against his skin. ‘You really are dumb.’

‘Really you’re insulting me now?’ Fitz retorted, confused beyond belief.

‘Leo’, she whispered. ‘Leo just shush and listen.’ He closed his eyes and nodded, running his hands up and down her thighs. ‘When Antoine and I, broke up’. She flinched slightly. ‘He thought I was developing… feelings for you Fitz. I thought he was being completely ridiculous but oh Leo, he was right, I was and I didn’t even realise it.’

Fitz was wrong; it was now his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

‘Jesus Jemma’, he whispered. ‘I’m sorry I knew how happy he made you.’

‘No Leo’, she argued, voice still quiet. ‘Don’t be sorry, he never understood me the way you do, in fact, no has understood me the way you do.’

‘Same here’, he said, kissing her again, and again, and again. Until shirts were shed and she was grinding against him and they were both moaning and hot skin was pressed against hot skin. He carried her into her bedroom and grinned as he shut the door.

‘I suppose we’re FitzSimmons now, eh?’

**Author's Note:**

> \- Faculae - a bright spot on the suns surface  
> \- loosely based off a tumblr prompt ( http://tg4official.tumblr.com/post/125297007388/ladiieschoice-ok-but-a-your-apartment-is-next )


End file.
